


The Love We Can't Speak, We Make

by Sadistrix



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Cunnilingus, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 22:10:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9568943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadistrix/pseuds/Sadistrix
Summary: Angela glances towards the door. She only lets herself relax when she sees that it's locked, breathing in the familiar smell of sweat and earth and gunpowder that clings to Reyes like a second skin. It's so out of place in her world of sterile equipment and operating theaters, as exciting as it is somehow comforting. The same conundrum that lurks in every facet of this... thing that they have.





	

He's old enough to be her father, or nearly enough, and Angela knows better than to ask questions she doesn't want to know the answers to when Reyes shows up in her lab after a deployment, darker under the eyes and lips a pale, dusky color, his voice deep and raspy in a way that conjures to Angela's mind the gravel left smoking in bombed out craters. He needs a good night's sleep, and an IV wouldn't hurt either, but his hands are steadier than hers when Reyes backs her against her own desk and tilts her head up for a kiss.

Angela glances towards the door. She only lets herself relax when she sees that it's locked, breathing in the familiar smell of sweat and earth and gunpowder that clings to Reyes like a second skin. It's so out of place in her world of sterile equipment and operating theaters, as exciting as it is somehow comforting. The same conundrum that lurks in every facet of this... thing that they have. Puzzle pieces in each other's lives that don't quite fit, but the smell of him lingering on her pillowcase is what draws Angela to bed most lonely nights, and though Reyes is too smart to keep souvenirs of secrets, to even hint at anything tying them together, she knows he has the terrain of her skin mapped more thoroughly than a war zone.

"Tonight?" he asks, and Angela can vividly picture herself atop him in his stark commander's quarters, his hands grasping her thighs; Reyes pinning her against the wall of her own, equally spartan apartment. Sometimes it's rough and frantic, sometimes he makes love to her like she's the best, most precious thing he's got. Some nights, they manage both. His body is big and hard and warm all over beneath the uniform he's wearing, and she's yet to find a way she can't get pleasure from it.

She's already flushed with heat at the thought, pushing her hands up underneath the one small sliver of fabric at his abdomen free of armoring. "Now?" How he brings this out in her, she doesn't need or want to understand. Angela knows she's insatiable, hopelessly needy the moment she lets her guard down, but Reyes indulges her every time and that's all that matters.

It's his turn to suck in a breath, eyes flicking down momentarily to the face of his watch. He's been hard since Angela curled her hand around his belt, scraping her short nails against the sensitive skin between that and his hipbone, just barely careful enough not to leave a mark. Briefing or not, she's confident he'll find a few moments to spare.

"Quickly," Reyes agrees. "Here," he bends her over the desk, pressing her fingers down and apart against its lacquered surface, and then his hands are on the back of her thighs, urging her legs apart, rucking up her previously modest skirt. Her heart's pounding fast, and Angela drops her head, closes her eyes in service of the sensation that is Reyes's calloused hands spanning her skin.

She's expecting him to tug her panties out of the way, tear them, pull them down - anything to get them out of the way - and push into her without hesitation, secure in the knowledge that she'll be more than wet enough to ease the way already. Instead, the sudden, hot breath against her inner thigh startles a moan out of her, and Angela clenches her hands into fists, shivering through the impulse to vocalize further. The vibration of his laughter carries through the fabric.

"That's it," Reyes praises her when Angela speeds her legs wider, pushes her ass out to expose herself to him further, none of the stomach-fluttering impact of his voice lost for how quiet it comes. His tongue moves over the damp fabric covering her snatch, and Angela knows his mouth is dry from dehydration, thinks far less than professionally that she could help him with that if only he'd just rip it instead -

She stifles a moan biting down on her knuckles instead. Because she can't trust herself to do it quietly enough, not-so-secretly enjoys just as much to let him have his way with her as she does when he devotes himself to being her test subject, modeling every combination of nerve endings and stimulus Angela can devise.

"That's it," he repeats, low and gravely, hooking a finger beneath the thin elastic holding her panties in place, "good girl."

Her hips jerk in unthinking reaction. Reyes knows what that does to her, apparently no less impactful murmured into the folds of her pussy than delivered looking into her eyes, holding her as gently as a porcelain doll. And he presses the advantage, tongue sweeping over her clit in quick, clever strokes. His breath is hot all over, condensing at the tops of her thighs, nose pressed unforgivingly into her perineum. A sudden heat races up her spine, gathers in the pit of her stomach, and Angela's legs tremble with the effort of not fucking herself back against his face.

She's teetering on the brink of climax in no time at all between the rhythm of his mouth and steady respiration, the noises he stifles in continuing attentions. Angela barely dares to breathe, her chest hitching violently, betraying her with guttural, gasping sounds each time she opens her mouth. Her hands clench and unclench, pressed so hard against the desk each joint goes white in turn. Angela tries to stay still, to stay quiet enough, pulled so tight and grasping at any little shred of composure she can manage, afraid that any one lapse in control will topple the rest - ultimately futile as a raw synapse fighting sparking potential.

Later - later she can be loud, can clutch at Reyes for the purchase her desk denies, leave her mark on him if she'll be the only doctor evaluating him long enough for them to fade.

His arm comes up around her waist, cushioning her hips from crashing against the table as much as holding her in place. She knows he can feel how she's losing control in fragments, trying her best to mitigate the damage and failing, because Reyes doubles down, zeroing in on her clit and working her over until Angela can feel the mix of fluids dripping down her thighs, insides clenching in waves that ripple out through her whole body.

Reyes hums from his throat, lips vibrating against hers and Angela abandons the desktop to clasp both hands over her mouth as she cums so hard she sees stars. Only Reyes' grasp keeps her from sinking to the floor like her limbs have turned to mush, like Angela wouldn't know motor coordination or anything but the barest of cerebral function if it smacked her in the face.

He gives her a second to recover before easing her panties back into place, one last, lingering kiss at the join of her thigh before he straightens up. Angela doesn't quite know how she manages to turn, loose-limbed and leaning back against her desk for support, but it's worth the sight of him, facial hair glistening with her juices and face flushed a deep red. She's made as much a mess out of him as the reverse.

"You should get cleaned up," Angela suggests breathlessly, nearly losing it to giggles at the shocky, reverberating cocktail of pleasure and adrenaline still rushing through her body. She smooths her skirt back down distractedly, does her best not to fidget like a schoolgirl under the weight of his gaze.

Reyes makes a face and adjusts his pants, glancing at his watch once more. "Tonight."

He's not the type for sentimental words like 'I missed you' or anything even approximating love - too many walls and secrets and trained too well to keep his own council - but he takes her hand in his and squeezes meaningfully before he turns at last to go.

Angela can read between the lines well enough.


End file.
